


your thoughts to my thoughts

by mixtapestar



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dream Sex, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: The thing about bringing the man you love back from the dead is—well, there are side effects.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 22
Kudos: 73
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	your thoughts to my thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).



The thing about bringing the man you love back from the dead is—well, there are side effects.

There's nothing like splattering molten chocolate on his shirt while attempting to make souffle because his goddamn _hands_ don't work right anymore, and then suddenly his mind is full of a panicked image of himself with _blood_ spatters instead, eyes lazy and intent as he stares back.

No one had mentioned a telepathic link when they came up with their crazy plan to get Quentin back—not that Eliot would have hesitated. But it was bad enough he had to live in his body now after a Monster had terrorized everyone in it for months; he didn't need visual reminders too.

The thing is, Quentin doesn't know that he's doing it. Some kind of connection has been lingering between them since Eliot pulled Quentin out of the Underworld, and it results in flashes of things Quentin has on his mind—particularly when those things involve Eliot.

"Oh god, I did it again, didn't I?" Quentin says, sounding miserable as Eliot grips the countertop and tries to bring his heart rate down.

"It's not your fault," Eliot says, attempting to sound light even though the thought of working his fingers into the precise movements of the cleaning spell fills him with dread.

Quentin moves into his space and does the spell for him, whisking away the chocolate sauce. "It's not your fault either, you know," he says quietly, avoiding Eliot's gaze.

Eliot looks down at the top of his head, ducked low, and itches to let go of the countertop and run his fingers through his hair. And yet, he can only imagine what horrific images that might provoke in Quentin's memories. Best not to find out.

He scraps the chocolate souffle idea entirely and makes tiramisu instead, and they move on.

That night, Eliot is sleeping fitfully as ever, dreaming in turns of Quentin being gone again, or of someone else being taken in his stead. But then the dream takes a sharp turn, the thread of it twisting drastically until it's gone entirely, with Eliot wondering how he got from frantically digging through the dirt of an unmarked grave to _this_.

 _This_ being a bed, bigger than Eliot has ever seen, and even though his fingers are still scrabbling uselessly, the softness of the comforter underneath him just bunches up pleasantly in his hands.

 _Please_ , comes an eager moan from across the bed, and then he sees Quentin, the comforter similarly bunched in his hands where he lies with his legs spread and his beautiful, naked body on display. Eliot moves without having to think it, and the next thing he knows he's got two fingers sliding inside of Quentin, feeling the clench of his hole, making him writhe.

Quentin's hands are on him constantly, needy, as he works him open, and then he's lining up his cock, pressing inside. Quentin cries and begs and won't stay still, not until Eliot fucks him steadily enough to calm him. Eventually, Quentin's babble becomes more urgent, and as he cries out, _El, fuck, yes—_ Eliot's eyes pop open, his hips still working as if they haven't stopped.

He's _awake_ , and he can still _feel it_ , the clench of Quentin on his cock. Can still _see it_ , even clearer when he closes his eyes, pumping his hips into the phantom heat. The sharpness of reality just enhances it, making the strangeness of the situation hotter as he thrusts in once, twice, and then surrenders to the crest of his orgasm.

Eliot half-expects his come to meet some unknown barrier, but it spills against the sheets, and as the waves of pleasure subside and he eases his hips down, the image fades, too. "Holy fuck," he says, staring at the only physical evidence of whatever the fuck just happened.

***

The next morning, Eliot and Quentin eat breakfast together, and Eliot can't stop thinking about it. Does Quentin know? Doubtful, as he's eating his Bee Holes and playing some dumb game on his phone without a care in the world. But did he feel it too? _Something_ had to have happened, and Eliot has no doubt that he was fully awake and aware of his senses when it ended.

"So, uh. How'd you sleep last night?" Eliot asks. He can't help himself.

"Oh, um. Pretty well, actually. You?"

Eliot nods, feeling a little manic. "I mean, some of it was decent. I had some interesting _dreams_."

Quentin drops his spoon into his bowl loudly as he reads something in Eliot's expression. "Oh god, no. You _saw_ that? I'm so— _god_. That's so embarrassing. I swear, I haven't had a wet dream in like, ages, I don't know what's going on with me—"

"Q," Eliot says, cutting him off before he can get too far down a spiral. "It wasn't just that I saw it. I—I _participated_."

Quentin's eyes go so wide they threaten to bulge out of his head. "You—"

"I was there. Things were a little floaty, with us both asleep, but I was in charge of my body. And it felt—I woke up, at the end, but the scene—carried on, for a minute or two. And I could still—participate."

Quentin has his head buried in his hands, the tips of his ears visibly red where his hair is tucked behind him. "Oh my god," he says, slightly muffled. "I'm _so_ sorry, to fucking—put you in that position, I don't know—"

"Hey," Eliot says gently, "it's really okay. Like I said, I had autonomy. I didn't do anything I didn't want to." His heart is beating fast, waiting for Quentin's reaction. He runs through the scenario from Quentin's perspective and is hit with a sinking feeling. "I just—was I taking advantage of _you_? You were completely asleep, if you didn't actually _want_ —"

"No," Quentin says firmly, dropping his hands back onto the table. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's, um. It's not the first time I've had a dream like that. Just the first one I fucking telepathically yanked you into, apparently."

Something about the way Quentin says 'it's not the first time' has Eliot's chest filling with hope. He reaches out tentatively to overlap his fingers with Quentin's on the table. "Is that… something you've been thinking about? Outside of a dream state?"

Quentin stares down at their hands, smiling ruefully. "I've been trying not to. Didn't want to hit you with a fingering fantasy projection while you were trying to tie your tie."

Eliot swallows thickly. _Jesus_. "That's—well. I wish this went both ways, in a way. At least then you'd know how many times a day I get distracted by you tugging on your hair, biting your lip, fucking— _touching_ your mouth every chance you get."

Quentin's eyes snap to his. He's still blushing, but the shyness seems to have faded. "I thought—you didn't want that anymore," he says, the second part of the sentence stated so matter-of-factly that it makes Eliot's chest ache.

"I do, want that. Want _you_. But you just came back from the _dead_ , Q. I figured you probably needed a little bit of space before I pounced on you."

"Oh my god," Quentin says, eyes wild and excited. "I've been back for over a _month_ , are you saying you've been keeping me at arm's length out of some, fuckin', misplaced propriety?"

Eliot shakes his head, but he can't help but smile. "You regularly incept me with reminders of how much this—" he gestures to his entire frame— "traumatized you," he reminds him. "We're both pretty fucked up. And my therapist keeps encouraging me to _ease_ back into things."

"I'll give you something to _ease_ back into," Quentin says, practically bouncing as he pushes up onto his feet, grabbing Eliot's hand to pull him up with him.

Eliot lets himself be pulled into a kiss, leaning down to meet Quentin as he pushes up on his toes. Quentin's lips meet his with a soft, happy gasp, and they melt into each other, arms circling each other as they bring their bodies together. Eliot loses himself in the press of Quentin's lips until Quentin slips a hand lower, groping over his ass. He can't help but smile as he breaks the kiss. "Are you sure this isn't too soon?"

"El, when we were in the Underworld, you told me you loved me. Is that still true?"

Eliot's face softens. "Of course it is."

Quentin nods, his voice gaining momentum. "And roughly one minute ago, you said that you wanted me," he says, pushing a leg between Eliot's. "I assume that's still true too."

"It is," Eliot says, his mouth starting to water.

"Then please, for the love of Fillory, take me into your room and fuck me."

Eliot really can't stand to be the voice of reason anymore anyway, so he grips Quentin's sides, lifting him up with a little help from his telekinesis until Quentin locks his legs around his back, smiling delightedly.

Moments later, Eliot lays Quentin out on his bedspread, giving him a second to get comfortable before he climbs on top of him, kissing him filthily. He runs his fingers through Quentin's hair like he's been dying to do for weeks, and suddenly there's a flash in his mind of his fingers gripping harder, tugging. He obliges the vision, tugging sharply to make Quentin whine against his mouth and arch up into him.

"I'm starting to get on board with this whole telepathy thing now," Eliot says, slightly breathless.

"I'm glad _you're_ enjoying it," Quentin says, working Eliot's shirt off. "Good to know it doesn't always have to be _extremely embarrassing_."

"Hmm," Eliot says contemplatively, following suit on the plan to get them both naked. "We should look into it. There may be a spell to mirror the effect."

Quentin raises his eyebrows. "You'd rather look for a spell for me to see _your_ thoughts than one that will fix you seeing mine?"

"I'm less inclined to try to change something that happened as a result of getting you back," Eliot says, running his fingers over Quentin's bare sides and making him squirm. "But more than happy to even the playing field. It'd be great to see you react to what goes through my head when you suck whipped cream off your fingers."

"Oh fuck," Quentin says, tilting his hips up as Eliot works his pants down over his hips. Moments later, they fall back together, naked and eager. "Please," Quentin whines, reaching for Eliot's cock. "I wanna taste you."

"Yeah," Eliot agrees, shifting so Quentin can climb on top of him. He doesn't need the help of telepathy to know that Quentin wants his fingers in his hair, so he slots his fingers in place the moment Quentin swallows him down enthusiastically. "Oh fuck, baby. You're so good," he says reverently, massaging his fingers over Quentin's scalp. "Nobody does it like you. Your mouth is so— _ahh_ —goddamn perfect."

A sharp spike of arousal shoots into Eliot, and it takes him a moment to realize that it didn't originate from him. It has the same effect, though, turning Eliot on further as he loses himself in the sensuous glide of Quentin's mouth over his dick.

"Christ, yeah, we're gonna have to look for that spell. I can feel how hot you are for it, baby. Want you to feel like this. _God_ , we'd probably come in thirty seconds flat."

Quentin pulls off, stroking Eliot's dick and smiling up at him. "Wouldn't think that'd be something you'd be gaming for."

"It'd be worth it with you," Eliot says, sitting up to pull Quentin up into a kiss, reaching for his cock and finding him leaking already.

"I want you inside me," Quentin says, rocking into his grip. "Can we do the spell? I know you like to take your time, but—"

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Eliot says, petting his free hand down Quentin's side. "You've been waiting for this. Dreaming about it. I'm happy to indulge you this time, if you promise to let me take as long as I want with you next time."

"Oh god," Quentin says, shivering. "Yeah. I—fuck, I want that."

"Very good," Eliot says, easing Quentin onto his back. Quentin's right that he normally likes to take his time, working Quentin open with his fingers and sometimes his tongue until he's a writhing mess, begging for Eliot's cock, but today he's definitely on board with skipping straight to the main event. Despite the results of their shared dream overnight, he's more turned on than he's been in months, making it nearly impossible to turn down the idea of sinking into Quentin almost immediately. His hands don't shake at all as he meets Quentin's eye and starts working through the tuts of a full prep spell. His magic is practically singing as he brings his middle fingers down against Quentin's hips, and Quentin groans as the magic stretches him open.

"You ready for me, baby?" Eliot asks, and instantly his mind is filled with a very clear _yes_ alongside the idea of him buried deep inside Quentin.

"Oh god," Quentin says as Eliot settles between his legs, slicking up his cock. "I think I'm starting to get the hang of this mental link. I almost felt you respond to that one."

"Good," Eliot says, hooking an arm under Quentin's leg as he lines up against him. "I want you to feel me."

" _Please_ ," Quentin says, and Eliot pushes in, meeting the barest resistance before he slips inside easily, making Quentin moan as he sinks in to the hilt. "Oh my god, _yes_ ," Quentin breathes, flexing his thighs against Eliot's. "Stay like that? Just for a second."

"Whatever you want, Q," Eliot says, brushing loose strands of his hair behind his ear. He leans down to press a kiss to Quentin's neck, trying to keep his head as Quentin clenches down around his cock.

Quentin reaches for his shoulders after a moment, urging him up into a kiss more serious than Eliot is expecting. Eliot's heart is pounding loudly in his chest by the time Quentin breaks the kiss. "Okay," Quentin says, taking a deep breath. "You should fuck me now."

Eliot tries to come up with something witty or sarcastic to say, but his heart is too full, so he tilts his forehead against Quentin's and starts working his hips. The slide is _perfect_ , and after a few thrusts, he gets a sensation that can only have come from Quentin, and the heady feeling of arousal is almost too much for a moment. Eliot's hips stutter as Quentin's pleasure suffuses through his body alongside his own, and he reaches for his hand to lace their fingers together against the mattress. "God, Q. I'm not gonna last long with your telepathic sexts lighting me up."

Quentin snorts, and the incongruous sound of it has Eliot laughing too, and soon it grounds him enough to keep from getting overwhelmed. "I can try not to hit 'send' too often," Quentin says, amused.

"Don't get me wrong, it's amazing," Eliot says, starting to move again. "Just don't expect me to be under any sort of control if you keep it up."

"Mm," Quentin says, rolling his hips. "Wouldn't mind seeing you lose control."

Taking that as permission, Eliot gives in to his building desperation, pumping his hips frantically as Quentin starts working his cock, moaning encouragingly as they move together. "I'm getting close, Q," he says, his voice rough.

"Yeah, _please_. Wanna feel you come," Quentin says, stroking his cock even faster.

" _Fuck_ ," Eliot says, the feeling of pleasure inside him reaching a fever pitch as he crashes over the edge and comes, buried deep inside Quentin.

"Oh god that feels good," Quentin says, writhing underneath him, and then Eliot's hit with another spike of pleasure as strong as his own at the same time that Quentin comes. He pushes up at the intensity, so overwhelmed that his vision whites out for a moment. When his vision clears, he takes in Quentin, sated and slowing to lazy strokes over his cock as he melts into the mattress.

"Holy shit," Eliot says, pulling out and concentrating on easing some of the tension from his muscles. "We've gotta figure out how I can do this to you," he says, collapsing next to Quentin and tossing an arm around his middle. "There's nothing like feeling your orgasm seconds after mine."

"Mm, that does sound nice," Quentin says, cleaning them with the simple tut and then rolling to face Eliot. "I'm just glad you don't mind me popping into your head all the time."

"You were already on my mind," Eliot says, stroking his fingers through Quentin's hair and leaning in for a quick, sweet kiss. "Feel free to stay as long as you like."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a comment! <3


End file.
